WARNING: This story contains depictions of violence, torture, and sexual harassment. Reader discretion is advised.
"Rowan!" my mother screams breathlessly, making me jump. My heart leaps into my throat and I jump out of my childhood bed as I hear her heavy thumps as she runs up the stairs. I run over to my door, ripping it open in a shaky panic.
"What is it, what's wrong? Is Dad okay?"
"What? Yes, I'm okay. Why wouldn't I be okay?" my father asks, popping out from behind my mother with a giant grin on his face.
"Oh," I reply, frowning. Before I can get another word in, my mother shoves an envelope into my hands.
The breath leaves my body and I feel the colour drain from my face. My mouth drops open and I try and say something, but nothing comes out but a breathless wheeze.
I turn the envelope around with shaking hands, my eyes immediately finding the wax seal. For a few moments, I stare at it as a loud ringing fills my ears.
It's definitely from them. Pressed into the dark red wax are the letters RMA. The font is elegant, and it sits beneath a crown. I run my trembling fingers over it.
This is the letter. For one long month, I have been waiting for this to arrive. I thought that when it finally did, I would tear it open in a mad rush. Yet, now it is here, I am terrified of what could be waiting for me inside. One way or another, the contents of this letter will change my life.
"Aren't you going to open it?" Mother asks, making me jump again.
"I can't," I say, shoving it back at her. "You do it."
Before she can argue, I turn around and take a seat on my bed, burying my spinning head between my knees. My stomach churns and my heart races.
"No, Rowan, you have to open it," Mother says, and I feel the bed sinking as she sits down.
I shake my head, my eyes stinging with tears.
"But what if..." I trail off, not even wanting to think about it. Mother laughs softly and reaches for me. She lifts up my head so I can stare into her bright blue eyes.
"What if what, Rowan?" she asks, sarcastically. "We both know these are going to be excellent results."
I bite at my lips and shake my head. "You open it."
"Rowan," she sighs, "you should be the first one to see them. You worked so hard; you need to know first."
"Please, Mum, just open it," I practically beg, my eyes stinging with tears.
"Oh, Row Row," Father says and he comes and sits on my other side. I sink into him, burying my head in his chest as he hugs me tightly and kisses the top of my head. "Go on, Catherine."
"Okay," Mother says, somewhat pensively.
I shut my eyes as I hear her ripping at the paper and sliding the letter out of the envelope. Mother clears her throat and I tense my body, ready to hear the worst.
You've failed. You've only got a pass.
"Dear Miss Rowan Catherine Elliot," Mother begins, and I flinch. My heart races so much from fear, that I feel horribly sticky and weak.
"We are writing to inform you of the result you have achieved from your studies at The Royal Military Academy of Athaine."
Mother starts to speed up, and I can hear the smile in her voice.
"It is with great honour that we inform you that you will be graduating with a HIGH DISTINCTION OF EXCELLENCE!"
My body crumples and I can't stop the heavy sob that leaves my mouth upon hearing those words. I curl myself into a tight ball, sobbing as my mother and father hold me close.
"My Row Row," Mother says, her voice excited. "I knew you could do it, I am so, so proud of you."
I can't respond. All I can do is cry as waves of relief pulse through me. It was all worth it. The endless, sleepless nights, the pushing my body to exhaustion and beyond, the beatings, the breakdowns, the hours upon hours of writing and studying. It wasn't for nothing. I've really done it.
I sit up, struggling to breathe through my tears. Wiping my eyes, and then my nose, I reach out for the letter.
"Can I see it please?" I ask. Mother hands it to me quickly and I look down at the ivory parchment. I blink a few times and wipe my eyes again, struggling to read it through my vision blurred by tears. There it is, written in black ink. I have scored in the top percentage and will be graduating with the highest award that you can get.
I fucking did it.
Mother laughs and strokes my hair gently. I turn to my father, who has the biggest grin on his face. Then, I laugh. I can't help it. It just escapes from me in a strange bubble of relief, mixed with joy, mixed with well, I don't know what.
"I didn't doubt you for a single moment," he says and pulls my face closer before pressing a sloppy kiss onto my forehead. I laugh and pull back.
We look over the results in silence for a moment, taking it all in.
"These combat skills are incredible," Mother whispers and I smile.
"Chemistry: bombs and poisons, ninety-eight out of one hundred! You really are my daughter," Father says and kisses my cheek before pulling me into a tight hug. I laugh as my face is pressed against his scratchy wool vest, which, as usual, clashes with everything else he wears.
"I learnt from the best," I tell him.
Mother laughs behind me. "Ninety-six out of one hundred on Blackmail, Extortion, and Manipulation would agree with that statement," she says with a wink. I laugh and look back at the letter again, scanning for one subject in particular.
"Languages of the other Realms: 96/100."
I giggle to myself, joy pulsing through me, making me feel like I'm floating. Of all my subjects, that was the one struggled with the most. Many an hour I spent in the library, surrounded by language guides and dictionaries, rehearsing the words and writing them down over and over until I could barely see straight and my hand cramped painfully around the pen.
"I really did it," I whisper and lie back on the bed, staring up at the ceiling.
"You really did," Mother says, lying back with me, squashing her usually perfect ginger curls.
"I had an excellent teacher," I say to her, looking into her eyes. She laughs and kisses me on the cheek.
"I had an excellent student," she says.
"Am I going to have lots of lipstick prints on my face?" I ask, looking at her slightly smudged red lips.
She laughs. "Maybe a few."
"Thank you both so much," I say. "Thank you for letting me go to the academy, and for teaching me your own skills, and for... well... for everything."
"You're spectacular, Rowen," Mother says. "And with results like that, the world is yours. Just think about all the opportunities that are opening up for you."
"What if I want to join the family business?" I ask.
Mother chuckles and shakes her head. "As much as I would love you by my side, you're destined for better things."
"Your mother is right," Father says. "You're better than us. Just think about it, twenty years down the line you could be a general of all Athaine's armies."
"Okay, that's a stretch," I laugh.
"Maybe a little, but he's on the right track. You don't belong in this city fighting in turf wars and taking on rival gangs. You belong out there, in the big wide world, travelling the realms with an army of the best soldiers behind you, Rowan."
Mother smiles softly and we sit up, the three of us embracing. "I didn't train you so you could join me, Row Row. I trained you so you could become something magnificent."
My lips quirk upward, imagining what it would be like to travel through the portals to the other realms. Imagining a future as a military leader, with my family's endless support from the sideline.
I've never been more excited for the future.
***
Later that morning, the phone rings. The high-pitched sound makes all three of us jump as we sit around the table eating bacon and eggs. Mother's eyes immediately find mine and we share a knowing look.
I gulp, feeling my stomach drop. My food suddenly feels thick and stodgy in my mouth, and I lick my dry lips.
I stare at the rotary phone that sits on the table near the entrance to the kitchen. It rings again, horribly loud in the now chilling silence.
Father stands up, not looking away from the paper, ready to answer it. I open my mouth to stop him, but Mother is quicker than me.
"Bernard," she says lowly.
"Huh?" he asks, looking up from what he was reading. Upon seeing Mother's face, he gulps and slowly sits back down.
Mother finds my eyes again and she smiles softly, noticing how pale I've gone.
"Go," she whispers encouragingly.
I stand as it rings for a third time. My head spins and I almost think I'm going to pass out. It could be a neighbour or one of Mother's friends. I try to convince myself, but it doesn't work.
I know what this call is about to be. The timing is too convenient.
Just as it begins its fourth ring, I pick the phone up with trembling hands.
I hold my breath as I bring it up to my ear.
"Hello," I say. For five long seconds, there is a deathly silence. When a voice speaks, I jump.
"The weather today isn't good enough for a picnic," the deep voice says.
My reply comes without me even having to think about it. "I think it will clear up later. The sun will come out, you'll see."
I wait in silence for the reply, biting at my lip nervously.
"Okay, then we'll meet in the park."
The line goes dead. I let out a long breath and put the phone back down. I close my eyes and ball my hands into fists to keep them from trembling.
"Mother... I-"
She nods her head. "It's okay, we'll be here when you're done," she says, smiling reassuringly.
I can't form the words to reply, so I just nod my head and make my way back up to my room. With every step I get closer, my legs feel heavier and heavier. Still, I cannot stall.
He is waiting for me.
I slam my bedroom door shut and lock it behind me. The next tasks I do subconsciously. Reaching into my draw, I rummage right to the bottom where a little black box is hidden. The hinges creek as I open it. Inside, protected by red cushioning, are little glass vials, sealed with a small cork. There are five in total and each one is labelled with words that only I understand. The contents of the vials are strands of hair.
I pick up one of the vials that contain a short, brown strand. Then, I go and sit on my bed. Opening the vial, I carefully pull out the hair and wrap it around my left index finger. Putting the vial to the side, I lay down on my back and close my eyes.
I draw in a long, deep breath. A strange heaviness consumes my body, as though something is pushing against me. In my ears, there is a ringing sound. It gets louder and louder as the world around me fades away. The pressure on my body increases, making my joints ache and my stomach churn. It becomes harder to breathe as my chest feels as though it is being crushed.
With a snap, it all disappears. My body feels unnaturally light, making my fingers tingle. I take in another deep breath and open my eyes.
I look down at my sleeping body. For a few seconds, I stare at my closed eyes and my peaceful expression. I watch as I take slow, even breaths. If anyone were to come across me, it would look as though I am sleeping. They wouldn't see another body floating parallel above my sleeping form.
I sink down so I'm standing on the floor. I ignore the fact that I can't feel the wood beneath my feet. When I look at my hands, they are translucent. I have to actively remind myself that this isn't my body. This is my consciousness.
Around my finger, the strand of hair glows gold. I float toward the window and look out of it to the bustling city beyond. Coming from the hair is a long golden thread that disappears into the distance.
I tug on the strand. My consciousness is dragged from my room. If it were an actual body, it would break from the force of being snapped away from where I am standing. I feel none of that. As I am dragged across the country at speeds so fast that all I can see are vague blurs, I feel nothing but my light, floating limbs.
In only seconds, I come to a sudden stop. I am in an office; one I have only been in a few times.
My eyes are immediately drawn to a man who stands in the middle of the room. Surrounding him is a faint, golden hue which connects to the thread of gold I had just followed.
He stands completely still; his posture straight and his hands clasped behind his back. He doesn't see me or even sense me as I approach. He doesn't even flinch as I step into his body.
Immediately, weight presses against me. I feel his consciousness push on mine. I squash it down and as I do so, my vision through his eyes becomes clear. I blink rapidly and square my shoulders, getting used to the new body. I unlock his fingers and wiggle them. I feel his muscles twitching and his skin is stretched and warped against me. This isn't my body and because of that, it feels almost as though I am wearing a suit that covers me completely, and that suit is far too tight and scratchy.
A strange trickling sensation dribbles down the side of my - his- face. Subconsciously, I lift up his arm and wipe away the sweat, accidentally knocking his beret as I do. I quickly re-adjust it and straighten the khaki shirt of his military uniform.
Ahead of me, a man sits behind a large oak desk. He clicks away at a typewriter and doesn't pay any attention to me. I know he knows I'm here; he just refuses to register it until he is ready. I look at the wall and I have to blink a few times to process what I am seeing. There are so many papers hung on it that I can't find one to focus on. There are multiple parchment maps, all of them covered in various little red pins marking certain spots. Grainy, black-and-white photographs of buildings or locations are strewn messily over it, a piece of red string connecting them to some of the pins on the map. How does he make sense of all of this?
The sound of a clearing throat makes me jump and I turn to face the man at the desk.
"Sir," I manage to splutter out as he watches me intently. A twang of fear shoots through me, making my heart race. I don't think I will ever have a meeting with Mr Day and not feel an impending sense of dread gnawing in the pits of my stomach.
"Good afternoon, Rowan," Mr Day says calmly.
"Afternoon sir," I reply. Still, to this day, after all the training I have received, it feels strange to speak and hear a different voice come out of my mouth.
"I trust you had a good summer break?" he asks.
I nod my head and lick my dry lips. "Yes, I did. Thank you, sir."
"Good," he replies then leans back calmly in his chair and stares at me with his intense, dark brown eyes.
Mr Day isn't a particularly good-looking man. Nor is he ugly. In fact, he is completely average. His tanned skin is slightly wrinkled, his lips are thin, and his brown facial hair is neat and short, as is the hair on his head. Yet, despite his plainness, he has a way of looking at you that makes it feel as though he is staring right into your soul, and it will never not send shivers down my spine.
"You received your results?" he asks.
"Yes, Sir. I am very pleased," I reply.
"You should be. They are some of the best results to ever come out of the academy. Well done," he tells me, and a small smile plays on his lips. I nearly collapse in shock at the sight of it. I don't think I've ever seen that man smile.
"Thank you," I say, smiling back.
"Your mother was right; she really could teach more than the academy."
I nod my head in agreement. "I never doubted her," I reply. Instead of only having two weeks off in the summer and winter like the other students, I had come home to my mother for two months during those seasons.
"She's a formidable woman," he agrees, then stands.
Mr Day walks around his desk and over to one of the dark green, metal filing cabinets. The metallic scraping as he opens it cuts into the intense silence. He pulls out a file clad in brown paper. On it, CONFIDENTIAL is stamped in red ink. With it in hand, he walks back to his dark red, leather chair and takes a seat again.
"You may be wondering why I called you here," he says.
"I am, sir," I reply. He opens the file and reads over the first page. The room falls back into silence as he does so. I keep my eyes on him, analysing him. He wears a pristine, dark blue, three-piece suit. Though I can't see any outline, I know he will have a gun holstered beneath the blazer. The only jewellery he wears is a simple, leather-strapped watch. There is nothing particularly stand-out-ish about him.
I can't even get a read from his expression as he looks over the file. He is doing that on purpose. He is leaving me to stew about what he has to say and making me stand in unnatural, thick silence with only the even ticking of his grandfather clock for company.
Finally, he looks up. "Almost every division of the Athainian military has put in requests for you to join their platoons," he states. "There have been talks of leadership positions within the special forces being available for you to train for. The Field Marshal himself has expressed an interest.
My eyes widen and I gulp. "Wow. That is an honour, sir."
"It is certainly impressive," he says, "and usually, when a graduating student receives multiple offers, they get to choose whose offer they take up."
"Usually?" I ask, already knowing the answer.
"The Prime Minister herself has chosen where you shall be employed," he states.
I look at him and nod my head. "What has she chosen for me?"
"You shall be working for me," Mr Day replies, his voice monotone. It doesn't surprise me. Mr Day is the one who originally found me and pushed for me to attend the academy. It is only fair he gets to reap the benefits of his discovery.
"So, will I be an agent of Realm Intelligence?"
"More than that, Rowan," he explains. "You'll be joining the Wraiths."
I feel the blood drain from my face. So much so, that a horribly dizzy sensation takes over me and black spots consume my vision. I only just hear what Mr Day says after that.
"So, enjoy these next two days with your family, Rowan. Because once you've graduated, you're going to disappear forever."
I blink rapidly, trying to clear my vision. My throat is completely dry, and I feel sick. Not the Wraiths. They are meant to be nothing but a myth to scare the other countries and realms.
The way Mr Day smirks knowingly at me tells me that the Wraiths are far from myths. His eyes find mine and I realise then that this is what he's been grooming me for all this time. To vanish. To leave my family behind.
I'm going to be a spy.
No, more than that.
I'm going to be an assassin.